


To Press My Lips to What I Love

by auri_mynonys



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Married Life, Old Married Couple, Romance, optimus reads aloud to megatron because cute, soft smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22139203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auri_mynonys/pseuds/auri_mynonys
Summary: Megatron asks Optimus to read aloud to him.For MegOp Week 2020 - Day 1: Pre & Post War. A post-war TFP fic.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime
Comments: 13
Kudos: 180
Collections: MegOP Week 2020





	To Press My Lips to What I Love

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is so soft. Just. The softest. I love soft MegOp so much, especially post-war when they're old and tired and just want to snuggle foreverafter. 
> 
> So here's for MegOp Week 2020 - post-war snuggles and cuteness!!
> 
> Also, yes, I *am* a huge sucker for Jane Eyre, why do you ask? >.>

The fading evening light found Optimus Prime curled up in the large, cushioned window seat Megatron had built for him. A pile of blankets and pillows surrounded him, keeping him cozy and supported as he read.

Under the covers, Megatron lay perfectly still, huge helm resting on Optimus’ broad chest. One massive arm and leg were slung over Optimus’ frame like lead weights, holding him prisoner. The former warlord _had_ always threatened to imprison Optimus when the war was won, Optimus thought wryly - though he very much doubted this was what Megatron had envisioned at the time. 

He smiled softly and petted Megatron’s helm with gentle digits, feeling the deep purr of Megatron’s engines rumbling through his plating. He glanced away from his datapad to admire his beloved sparkmate: the warlord who had for so many years been his enemy, and yet still one he had prized above all other mechs. It was hard to imagine that this mech was the same one he had battled for four million years. The Megatron he’d known during the war would never have allowed himself this softness, this vulnerability.

Megatron’s optics fluttered open, deep red and hazy. “And just what are you staring at, my treasure?” he asked. His voice bore some of the natural arrogance it had always carried: commanding and powerful and just slightly amused, a little grin playing upon his dermas.

A blush burned up through Optimus’ faceplate, almost as intensely as it had when they were young - when a handsome gladiator had first begun to use sweet endearments with his little archivist. “Oh, nothing,” Optimus said, optics twinkling. “Just admiring an old relic.”

Megatron chuckled, squeezing Optimus’ waist. “Watch your tongue, Optimus Prime. This relic is armed and dangerous.”

“I quake with terror at your pedes, my love.” Optimus bent and pressed a kiss to Megatron’s helm, bumping his faceplate affectionately against the metal. His field rippled over Megatron’s in a wave of warmth, expressing what he did not say aloud: _I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you..._ “I thought you were in recharge.”

“Nearly.” Megatron burrowed closer to Optimus, clinging to the Prime like a human child might hug a teddy bear. “You make a surprisingly comfortable resting place. Would that I had kept you in my berth during the war years. I might have slept far better.”

Optimus laughed, shaking his helm. “For more reasons than the comforts of my frame, I imagine.”

“Oh, I find your frame a _great_ solace, beloved - in every possible way.” There was a dark little glint in the warlord’s optics as he said it, promising all kinds of delicious pleasures - if only Optimus would allow him an opening. Optimus considered a reply, but flirtations had never been his forte; and anyway Megatron was already moving onward, barreling ahead as always. His gaze flicked to the datapad, an optic ridge lifting. “What are you reading?”

“An old Earth favorite - one I’ve read many times before,” Optimus said. His digits traced a few scars in the shining silver of Megatron’s helm, tender and loving. “I doubt you would like it much.”

“I like anything when I hear it in the melodic vocals of my Prime,” Megatron replied. “Though I question the necessity of reading a work again once one has committed it to memory. Surely you’ve stored it somewhere in your memory banks if you care for it so much?”

Optimus glanced up at the room beyond the little window seat, pursing his dermas. “Darling. Have you counted recently how many works I consider _favorites?_ I very much doubt there exists a datapatch large enough to hold them all.”

Megatron cast a rueful glance around their little abode. Every spare surface was stacked with datapads and human texts: both Megatron and Optimus’, though Optimus’ collection had far outpaced Megatron’s over the years of the war. “Mmm. Yes, I see your point,” he sighed. “I suppose if you stored all your favorites internally, you would have no room in your memory banks for anything else.”

“I’d save room for you,” Optimus replied, kissing the top of Megatron’s helm. “Always.”

It was gratifying how quickly Megatron’s faceplates heated. “As is only right and fitting,” he blustered, vocals gruff and laced with static. Optimus shook his helm, knowing the comment was born of a misplaced sense of dignity and not true arrogance… for once.

“You say that as though you do not also have a file exclusively for me in your permanent archival memory,” Optimus murmured, right into Megatron’s audial.

Megatron made a low, aching sound, nuzzling up into Optimus’ touch. “Several, in fact,” he replied. “One for a young clerk I once knew; one for a Prime I once fought; and one for the sparkmate I now at last call my own.” 

He lifted the arm that had been draped over Optimus’ middle to stroke his cheek. Optimus shifted to plant a kiss against his palm, smiling softly. “And how fortunate I am to call you mine,” he replied.

Megatron’s gaze was unbearably tender, sweeter and softer than Optimus had ever dared believe he could be. “That little clerk liked to read aloud to me sometimes,” Megatron said thoughtfully. “Such a lovely voice he had. A sweeter, more innocent time for both me and him. Perhaps my sparkmate might indulge me tonight with another reading?”

Optimus’ spark jumped in his chest. He remembered being smaller in frame once, sitting cross-legged in an armchair while Megatronus lounged upon a couch, listening with optics closed. It was one of his fondest memories of those older days: a quiet, peaceful memory, a place he had gone to in his spark whenever the burdens of life during the war became too much to bear alone. “Would you like that?”

“Would I have asked otherwise?” Megatron grinned and gently bent to kiss one of Optimus’ windows.

Optimus reset his vocalizer, frame burning with heat and affection. How he continued to be so overwhelmed with love for this single mech after so many years still confounded him. Megatron had been so many things to him: lover, mentor, brother, enemy - but he had always, always inspired this deep, steady adoration in Optimus, even in their worst moments. 

And now, they got to have this: fading sunlight and a house of their own, twilight hours spent wrapped in each other both physically and mentally.

“Very well,” Optimus said. “But I did warn you you wouldn’t care for it.”

Megatron merely hummed in reply, closing his optics and curling into Optimus’ side once more.

Optimus took a moment to pause, to pick the passage he wished to read - and, finding it, he started in a clear baritone that echoed throughout the house:

> _“Mr. Rochester, if ever I did a good deed in my life — if ever I thought a good thought — if ever I prayed a sincere and blameless prayer — if ever I wished a righteous wish, — I am rewarded now. To be your wife is, for me, to be as happy as I can be on earth.”_
> 
> _“Because you delight in sacrifice.”_
> 
> _“Sacrifice! What do I sacrifice? Famine for food, expectation for content. To be privileged to put my arms round what I value — to press my lips to what I love — to repose on what I trust: is that to make a sacrifice? If so, then certainly I delight in sacrifice.”_
> 
> _“And to bear with my infirmities, Jane: to overlook my deficiencies.”_

Megatron’s field crackled, crimson optics snapping open. Optimus paused, shaking his helm, amused. “You hate it,” he said without malice. Megatron had never been particularly partial to romances, Gothic or otherwise. His interest lay in political texts, in history and philosophy and the occasional bit of poetry. He had indulged Orion Pax and sat quietly while the young archivist read to him from his favorite novels, but even then, Orion had known the gladiator hadn’t much cared for their plots. _Jane Eyre,_ he assumed, would be much the same.

Megatron lifted his helm and shook it, a solemn look upon his face. “No,” he said. “No, on the contrary, Optimus. Don’t stop.” He shifted away from Optimus, removing his arm from beneath the Prime’s back and propping himself up on one elbow, his opposite hand coming to rest over Optimus’ spark chamber. Optimus had to reset his vocalizer a second time before continuing, a more fervent blush heating the air between them.

> _“Which are none, sir, to me. I love you better now, when I can really be useful to you, than I did in your state of proud independence, when you disdained every part but that of the giver and protector.”_
> 
> _“Hitherto I have hated to be helped — to be led: henceforth, I feel I shall hate it no more. I did not like to put my hand into a hireling’s, but it is pleasant to feel it circled by Jane‘s little fingers. I preferred utter loneliness to the constant attendance of servants; but Jane’s soft ministry will be a perpetual joy. Jane suits me: do I suit her?”_
> 
> _“To the finest fibre of my nature, sir.”_

And so they continued for awhile - Optimus reading quietly while Megatron listened, gaze never leaving Optimus’ face. The sun slipped behind the horizon, and the lights in the reading nook flickered on automatically, as most nights found Optimus there anyway - a feature Megatron had added later, when he had found Optimus squinting in the falling dark one too many times. 

They had nearly reached the end, and were coming to one of Optimus’ favorite quotes: a sweet expression of love and domestic bliss.

> _“I have now been married ten years. I know what it is to live entirely for and with what I love best on earth. I hold myself supremely blest — blest beyond what language can express; because I am my husband’s life as fully as he is mine. No woman was ever nearer to her mate than I am: ever more absolutely bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. I know no weariness of my Edward’s society: he knows none of mine, any more than we each do of the pulsation of the heart that beats in our separate bosoms; consequently, we are ever together. To be together is for us to be at once as free as in solitude, as gay as in company. We talk, I believe, all day long: to talk to each other is but a more animated and an audible thinking. All my confidence is bestowed on him, all his confidence is devoted to me; we are precisely suited in character — perfect concord is the result.”_

Optimus was just beginning the next sentence when Megatron laid his digits on his cheek, turning his faceplate away from the datapad and towards himself. The surprised exclamation Optimus meant to utter was swallowed by a kiss: Megatron brushing scarred dermas over Optimus’, pressing him back into the cushions and blankets as the former warlord rolled on top of him.

Optimus smiled and let the datapad fall from his servo to the floor, groping with the opposite hand for the switch that would block outsiders from looking in. It was hardly a trouble to them here in the mountains, where few mechs ever came; but Optimus liked to preserve _some_ sense of modesty at least. “Mega - ”

“I love you,” Megatron breathed against his mouth. “I love you, and always have, from the very instant I met you.”

Optimus pressed up against his lover’s frame, spark to spark with him. “As I have loved you, and never ceased to - not even for a moment.”

Megatron made a small, aching sound in the back of his intake, nuzzling against Optimus’ audial. “Open your spark for me,” he murmured. “I need - ”

Optimus pulled him back into kiss, chest panels drawing back. He knew what it was Megatron meant to say - knew that same, exquisite need deep in his own spark: to be as close as he could possibly be with the mech he loved so deeply, to be united with him in spark and frame and mind all at once.

He let his modesty panels slide back as well, though Megatron had not specifically asked for that kind of interface. Optimus’ spike pressurized between them, thick and painted silver and red: adorned with blue biolights that stood out like stars. Megatron gave a husky little growl when he felt it, bracing himself over Optimus’ frame and reaching down for him immediately. “My beloved is so eager for me,” he said, his heated palm curling around Optimus’ length. “How I revel in your desire, Optimus. It reflects my own so prettily.”

Optimus bit down on his lower derma, rutting into the slow, delicious stroke of Megatron’s hand. “ _Hh - Megatron_ \- !”

“Yes, my beauty?” Megatron purred, bending to nip at Optimus’ intake cables.

Optimus reached down and pawed at Megatron’s still-closed panel, envying the warlord’s restraint. “Give me this,” he ordered, parting his legs for his lover. 

Megatron laughed, his engines revving against Optimus’ plating. “Is that a Prime’s command?”

“A mate’s plea,” Optimus replied, stroking more insistently against that glorious, overheating panel. Megatron curled a thumb over the tip of Optimus’ spike, dragging it through pre-fluid and smearing the head with it - in turn dragging another moan from Optimus’ throat. “Megatron!”

“How I love to hear the way you say my name,” Megatron hissed. His panel drew back, freeing his spike. “Guide me?”

“Yes, yes!” Optimus took hold of him by the base and did as Megatron had bid him, guiding him to the entrance of his valve. He arched and gasped when Megatron filled him, a perfect, slow, tender thrust. “My love,” he whispered, pressing his helm to Megatron’s. “My forever - ”

Megatron moaned sharply, still moving at a steady, even pace: not rushing, not pounding, just… filling him. Optimus shivered and clung to his Champion’s back, moving to press his spark to Megatron’s. “Merge?” he panted, staring into Megatron’s optics. As red and deadly as they yet were, he felt he could drown in them forever.

“Merge,” Megatron agreed, leaning his forehelm against Optimus’. He drew back the plating on his own spark chamber, opening his spark: allowing their two lights to touch and entangle. Optimus was suddenly full of his beloved in every possible way, his spinal strut going rigid. He impaled himself upon the spike inside of him, feeling Megatron grip his own spike that much more firmly: pleasure feeding into pleasure in an endless loop that dragged them both up and up and up.

He saw, between the haze of his ecstasy and Megatron’s, how he had looked in Megatron’s eyes as he read: beautiful and glorious, a picture of an ancient nobility that had long ago been lost. He felt the tender swell of adoration Megatron had experienced as Optimus spoke the words: _No woman was ever nearer to her mate than I am: ever more absolutely bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh._ How deeply the phrase had affected the warlord. How much the sentiment rang true for him. 

He knew that Megatron was seeing himself from Optimus’ eyes at the same moment: beloved, precious, cherished. That swell of gratitude Optimus felt every time he realized, _We have this. We are allowed this. We are allowed to be together, to build the future together. We need never be parted again._

They overloaded simultaneously, crying out so loudly the wall beside them trembled. Optimus’ vision whited out for a lingering moment as his whole body briefly joined with Megatron’s in every aspect. Megatron’s overload filled him so exquisitely, so utterly, that for a few minutes he could no longer tell where his frame ended and Megatron’s began. They were whole. Complete. Belonging entirely to each other.

When it finally ended, they collapsed, the weight of Megatron’s frame falling hard against Optimus’ broad chest. The warlord groaned, shaking, aftershocks of charge still running through him. Optimus gently stroked his mate’s helm, crooning an old song he’d once liked to sing for Megatron as he slowly returned to himself.

“Primus,” Megatron said at last, his voice hoarse and crackling. “That was…”

“Perfect,” Optimus sighed. “You’re perfect.”

Megatron gave a low, rough laugh, rolling off of Optimus and pulling the Prime’s frame flush against his own. “You know, I’d intended to take you to the city below for dinner,” he said, “But now I’d rather not move.”

Optimus laid his hand over Megatron’s, smiling to himself. “How odd. I too don’t particularly feel like moving. Tomorrow, perhaps?”

“Tomorrow.” Megatron pressed his faceplate into the back of Optimus’ helm, venting onto the nape of the Prime’s neck. “Rest, my love.”

Optimus chuckled and patted Megatron’s hand. “Washracks first, my mate. You will not enjoy my grumbling tomorrow morning when I wake up sticky.”

Megatron made a complaining noise, growling petulantly; but he was already rising, cursing to himself in Pit-tongue as his joints echoed his complaints. 

Optimus propped himself up and just watched for a moment, optics lingering on Megatron’s familiar frame. There he stood, proud as ever, amongst a collection of their things - _their_ things, in _their_ household, where they lived _together._ Optimus’ spark swelled and shone sparkling blue, overwhelmed with affection. The flare was so bright it reflected off the windows, catching on every metal surface and bathing the room in a soft blue glow.

Megatron paused, catching that flare: turning his helm with a soft little smile to glance at his conjunx. For a moment, he too simply stared, admiring Optimus from across the room. Then a familiar little smirk took his mouth, and he held out his servo, beckoning with all the swagger of a warlord and commander. “Well, Optimus?” he said, optics bright. “Do you intend to lay there admiring me for the rest of the evening, or are you coming?”

Optimus gave a fond roll of his optics, pushing himself from the little reading nook as his chest plates slid back into place. “I suppose I can admire you just as well in the washracks,” he said with a little wink - pleased when that earned a loud bark of laughter from his mate.

“You may feel free to admire me wherever and whenever you like, Optimus Prime,” Megatron said. He gestured again, impatiently this time. “Hurry up. You move slower than a garbage scow in a tar pit!”

Optimus laughed and strode across the room, ducking under Megatron’s arm and embracing him about the waist, as he had once done when he was just Orion Pax. “Be kind, my Champion. I was just mercilessly fragged into a strutless heap by a handsome warrior, you know.”

“Mercilessly, you think? I can be far more merciless,” Megatron purred, nipping at an exposed finial. “Why don’t I provide you a demonstration in the washracks, hmm?”

Optimus smiled, kissing Megatron’s chest, gratitude and joy flaring through his every circuit and burning through his field to wash over his beloved. “I think I would enjoy that very much.”

“Mm.” Megatron paused long enough to kiss Optimus’ helm, gently guiding him towards their berthroom and its attached washracks. He returned the gratitude twofold through his own field, a deep contentment Optimus had never felt from him before washing over him. “Thank you for indulging me,” said Megatron, his vocals hushed and fond. “It was good to hear you reading again. To hear what texts you have come to love over the years.”

Optimus allowed himself a blush, a little tremble running through his frame as a firework of joy erupted in his spark. “I am glad you enjoyed it, my love. I admit I did not expect you to favor the work. It is not the sort of genre you preferred in the old days.”

Megatron hummed a soft note, leaning his weight against Optimus’ frame. “Ah, well. Many things have changed since those early days. I suppose I found such stories deeply unrealistic once. I did not believe a love like that could exist.”

Optimus’ vents hitched, caught in his chassis. “And now?”

Megatron smiled, nuzzling Optimus’ helm, and replied, “ _I hold myself supremely blest — blest beyond what language can express; because I am my husband’s life as fully as he is mine. No mech was ever nearer to his mate than I am: ever more absolutely ore of his ore and spark of his spark. All my confidence is bestowed on him, all his confidence is devoted to me; we are precisely suited in character — perfect concord is the result.”_

Optimus made a small, deeply undignified sound, optics wide and bright. Oh, he had memorized - he had _adjusted -_ he had actually -

“Forget the washracks,” Optimus said, his vocals cracking. He pulled out from under Megatron’s arm and bodily spun the warlord around, pushing him backward towards their berth. “I have a better idea.”

Megatron laughed, allowing himself to be pushed. His frame already rippled with heat, an intensity in his gaze that made Optimus’ frame respond with equal desire. “Why, Optimus, if I had known merely quoting romantic fripperies would put you in such a _mood,_ I might have done so far sooner!”

“Oh, don’t ruin the moment,” Optimus grumbled. 

Megatron grinned, caught Optimus around the waist, and pulled him into their berthroom, dropping onto the berth and pulling Optimus into his lap with a soft, pleased sound. “Optimus Prime _,_ ” he murmured, bending to kiss Optimus’ intake, _“...if ever I did a good deed in my life — if ever I thought a good thought — if ever I prayed a sincere and blameless prayer — if ever I wished a righteous wish, — I am rewarded now. To be your mate is, for me, to be as happy as I can be on earth.”_

Optimus’ engines rumbled fiercely. He hoped Megatron could taste the smile upon his lips as he bent and claimed the former warlord’s mouth, fulling intending to claim the rest of him in the following moments.

_Sacrifice,_ he thought, looping his digits through Megatron’s as he deepened the kiss. _What do I sacrifice? To be privileged to put my arms round what I value — to press my lips to what I love — to repose on what I trust: is that to make a sacrifice? - Far better than the infinite other sacrifices I have been forced to make in the course of the war. I’ll savor every moment we have together._

_We get to have this. Forever._

Then, overwhelmed by love for the mech in his arms, Optimus ceased to think much at all.


End file.
